


The People Look Like Flowers At Last

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Zayn, Attempt at Humor, Drug Use, Endgame Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Louis-centric, M/M, Mild Smut, New Year's Eve, New Year's Resolutions, Past Zayn Malik/Louis Tomlinson, Poet Louis, Sarcasm, Slow Burn, Smoking, University Student Harry, Writer Louis, black and white films, director harry, filmmaker harry, kind of slow burn I mean..., silent films
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-23 23:00:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7483305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis Tomlinson's life is on the cusp of another New Year and he is left to reflect upon his short life thus far. Upon realising that nothing has changed this year since the last: same piss poor job, flat with the horrid heating and leaking roof and lover, Zayn, who he beginning to question if he ever really loved at all, he decides it's time for a change. These changes come surprisingly, not in the form of quitting his old habit or working on the eventual novel. No. His revolutionary change comes in the form of a pretentious curly-haired hipster in a coffee shop. How utterly cliche. </p><p>Or Louis is an aspiring writer with an overwhelming love of Bukowski, his life in falling to pieces and maybe an aspiring filmmaker and silent film lover, Harry, can help him with that. They meet in a coffee shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act One On Melancholy Hill

_**Act 1** _

_**On Melancholy Hill** _

_The young man watched_

The snow through the windows.

He wanted to stay in that cafe forever.

The curious feeling swam through him

That everything was beautiful there,

That it would always stay beautiful there.

Nirvana- Charles Bukowski

 

_**Scene 1** _

_**Encounter and Revelations** _

It was winter, and what a piss poor winter it was. The year had been particularly cold and not worth Louis’ while. It was the time of year you were meant to reflect over your life. When Louis did so he felt nothing. It had been a piss poor year, the second in a row. What a horrid year it had been for many reasons, but the main was that he was stuck in the same place. This time last year Louis had been walking down the same streets of East London with the same tattered jean jacket and ripped off-white jeans. Who had told him white jeans were a good concept? That was probably Zayn since he seemed to keep wearing them and he wouldn’t normally wear something so ridiculous of his own accords.

He and Zayn had gone nowhere. They were still living in a shitty, one bedroom flat in one of the worst suburbs of London. Their main room (kitchen, dining, lounge room and any other room that wasn’t the bathroom or bedroom) was still being dominated by Zayn’s art and used as a studio. Louis would like more room for his space. He would try to get some if he had any money, but he didn’t. Money was no better than last year, if anything it was worse. How were an aspiring artist and writer with a taste for drugs and lavish ‘necessity’ ever meant to actually acquire any real money? Get a job? Tick.

His job was one of little interest. He mostly just sold and sorted novels in the local library, watching every other day as sixty-year-old women ask for copies of Fifty Shades of Grey. He felt the literary world crumble before his eyes while trying not to imagine someone the age of his grandmother getting off to poorly written sadomasochism. What ever happened to Bukowski, Orwell, Ginsberg and Kerouac?

While walking the streets on that cold winter morning Louis starts making a list. He figures he might as well get his New Year's resolutions in order. Honestly, he wasn’t the type to bother with things of that nature because he more than likely wouldn’t stick to them but not making them hadn’t worked for him either. He might as well join the masses and at least try to make an effort to change.

He shoves his hands into the depths of his pockets and finds one packet of cigarettes in each. You know, just in case he lost one or smoked more than one a day. It wasn’t that he even really cared about the habit and god knew, Zayn didn’t, but it seemed like the reasonable start to the list.

1) Quit smoking (because… reasons).

The second was a little bit harder for Louis to think of, there was always ‘write a book’ but he was both lacking in inspiration and funds to do that. What else? Ah- though he couldn’t quit his shit house job in the mothball invested library at the moment, he could if he ever got a better job.

2) Get a better job.

The next idea struck when Louis walked past a little café. He saw an array of people filling the small area. From elders to ‘hipsters’, children with single parents, men with women half their age. They were all there. Hipsters were the literal scum of the earth in Louis’ opinion, they tried to be quirky by being into obscure things, but only the obscure things every other hipster was into. He most of all hated that people would assume he was one. No, he wasn’t bitter by that fact at all. Note his internal sarcasm.

On feeling the heat radiate from the slightly open door he couldn’t help but walk inside and thank Christ it didn’t smell like mothballs, just over-sugared coffee and baked confectionaries. Now Louis could deal with that smell. There was an old man bent over the local paper. It wasn’t like the old days where the front paper would harbour worldly facts about global trading, the stock market, trials and tribulations of the everyman or war. The papers nowadays were mostly nonfactual information about false idols who got where they are today by either having a really rich family, really good connection or just generally fucking their way to the top. God help the few poor, genuine sods that got into ‘show business’ for actually liking their craft and was instead slapped in the face by shams, scandals and overall fabricated narratives to make themselves seem slightly more relevant. That man really needed to expand his horizons past the scantily clad blonde on the cover. Another resolution struck him and then another.

3) Expand Horizons.

4) Avoid stupid people at all cost.

Louis walked up to the counter and looked over the menu several times. Who even bloody well knew there were so many different types of coffee? What was the difference between a macchiato and mocha? What was a cortado or a ristretto? At this point, he was about five seconds away from saying fuck it, and plunging back into the late morning London freeze, when a body by his side spoke.

“You look a little confused.”

“Extremely perplexed actually,” Louis quipped as his eyes moved to take in the figure beside him.

He was tall, though Louis wasn’t exactly what one would consider ‘average’ in height. The lad was still tall if one were average. He wore only three of the buttons on his button down done up. It was ridiculously freezing and so his outfit was utterly impractical, especially since he was wearing a large coat over it because it’s fine for his nipples to be freezing as long as his arms were warm and toasty.

This was just the type of guy who would probably piss Louis off. Just the look of him kind of pissed Louis off. He wore his curls cut slightly shorter than Louis’ own ragged hair, though something told him that seemed to be a new decision. Maybe it was the way he kept tugging his beanie down or for the fact he wore a hair tie around his wrist. 

“I just want coffee. The only coffee I ever have is from home and it comes out of a tin.” 

The other man raised an arched brow and went back to examining the board.

“Well, I’m not a coffee connoisseur but I would say go for the cappuccino. It’s the equivalent of the everyman’s coffee out of a tin,” He chuckled.

So maybe, just maybe not all pretentious hipsters were bad. Louis muttered a thanks, though let his eyes linger on the other lad’s. His eyes reminded Louis of the wet weather in the English countryside. They were the kind of green you only saw after the rain. So vibrant it was almost utterly unbelievable. Maybe it was a trick of the light.

It was with that parting glance they split ways. The boy brought his coffee and Louis brought his. They both sat at different seats, at different tables in different locations in the crowded café. Louis took a chair by the window, placing down his coffee and knapsack watching curiously as the other lad sat down at a booth and pulled out his laptop. The light of the screen caught Louis’ attention and he quickly found himself curious.

With bulky headphones on, the other lad pressed play and his screen leapt to life with the black and white image of a fairly ancient looking title sequence, fuzzy and skipping around the frame. Louis wasn’t totally sure, but the words seemed to be French. The other man was definitely a hipster then, with his bloody, black and white pretentious snobbery. Louis wasn’t much into people watching, but something about this boy affixed him and so he continued to watch the fuzzy images play out on screen. He tuned out for most of the title sequence, looking back to his cup of coffee trying not to look as if he were staring.

Louis took a large gulp of the scalding liquid and let out a quiet hum of content, surprisingly enough this was good, really damn good. He had another resolution.

5) Drink more coffee.

When Louis glanced up at the boy’s screen again, he saw a man smoking a cigarette, then the moon and then a pretty young woman. All seemed fairly standard until it didn’t. He watched and cringed as the man slit open the woman’s eye with a razor blade and quickly looked away. Maybe he had dodged a bullet by not continuing his conversation with the other man. Louis was a narcissist yeah, but not a total psychopath.

Louis took slow sips of his coffee, small sips, wanting to make it last. His eyes began moving from the planes of the boy’s back to the black and white film. He found himself resting his head against the windowpane. Outside fresh snow had begun to fall, drifting and winding in the breeze. This time last year they had no snow, just rain. He remembered attempting to plug the holes in the leaking roof of his flat, using every bucket and ashtray to save the wooden floorboards from shifting and swelling with the rain, ever since then the flat had the musk of mould. According to Zayn in his over sarcastic manner it ‘added to the charm’. There flat had next to no charm.

When he caught himself thinking of his metaphorical other half, the Yin to his Yang, sun to his moon, day to his night and all that, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt and not know why. If you couldn’t tell already their relationship wasn’t exactly in the best of places, in fact, it was worse than last year and last year was pretty damn bad. 

Sometimes, when Louis could be bothered he would think about the beginning. He remembered the day they moved into the flat, when they were both starry-eyed and in lust- no, not love. Louis wasn’t sure if he could ever classify their relationship as a loving one. It was definitely a lustful one. Zayn used to paint pictures and name them after Louis. He remembered the day Zayn leant a large canvas across the wall of their main room (his studio) and how he had teasingly tugged Louis to stand in front of it. He remembered the way Zayn had used a feathered brush to paint his favourite shirt red before stripping it from him, painting his skin, and the canvass while Louis smirked teasingly and reached for a brush of his own, painting Zayn blue. Together they made the canvass purple and hung it in their living room. Zayn named it _Sex_. He sold most of his paintings, but not this one. 

They used to fuck wide-eyed and dewy lips, with the lights on and the volume up. Now they hardly looked at one another, skipped the romance, skipped the spark. They just had quick runs between shooting up and maybe that was just their relationship but somewhere in the back of his mind Louis couldn’t help but think, god… please don’t let this be my life, please. Another idea.

6) Get Zayn to say I love you.

With that thought Louis couldn’t help but think the magic of his little safe haven was running dry and so with one last gulp of his coffee dregs he stood, gathering his things, sparing one last glance at the boy with the curls and then plunging back into the streets.

 

_**Scene 2** _

_**Sex and the Birth of Melancholy** _

After a solid ten minutes of fumbling with the broken lock and rusting latch of the door to his apartment, Louis finally felt it swing open. He was hit with the reek of still drying paint. The ground was covered in papers that looked as if they were from the late 90s, Louis never really did question where Zayn got them. He got a lot of odd things from a lot of odd places so Louis had gotten to the stage where he had just stopped asking, it was better for everyone that way.

Zayn looked up with a raise of his brow as he saw Louis. He was dressed in two jumpers, a leather jacket over a hoodie. Their heating had been on the fritz since last winter. As for the noise, Louis couldn’t hear himself think over the blasting of music. Louis was pretty sure it was Drake, the booming base making his head throb as Zayn made quick brush strokes, before pausing, standing back from the canvas and dipping his brush into a small container of white paint. He started flicking it at the mostly black canvas, every now and again nodding his head or tapping his feet to the music.

“You’ve been gone awhile,” Zayn yelled over the music.

“I got coffee.”

“With what money?” Zayn faced him for a second and raised a brow. Two could play at that game.

“New paint set?” Louis quipped watching Zayn shut his mouth and go back to the canvas. 

“Does Drake really have to be vibrating our foundations Z?”

Zayn’s lips snaked into a smirk as he hit the canvas roughly with a splash of white paint.

“I heard there is this thing right… It’s called synaesthesia. It’s where two of your senses are fucked and somehow interfere with the other. Some people can see songs and they paint them… I think I might have it.” 

Louis stripped off his boots and made his was to Zayn’s side, tilting his head from one side then the next as he looked at the artwork, his lips puckering slightly.

“And that’s what _Hotline Bling_ looks like?”

 _“Feel No Ways_ , actually.”

Louis made a hum, sounding slightly interested though he never got Zayn’s art. He didn’t get art. Zayn didn’t get literature. They were a good pair. All he could see was a few colours splash, smeared and scratched into a canvas. He guessed it was okay.

“What are you going to call it?”

“I was thinking something along the lines of, _Wank Stain on the Corporal Bourgeoisie’s Sheets_.”

Louis sent him a sideways glance to make sure he was serious. He was. 

“It’s too long,” He stated simply. 

“The only people you are going to get to look at that is _Fallout Boy_ fans. We need money and if you are going to sell it you need to know your clientele, rich people like simplicity, they like being told what to feel so they feel like they are right.”

Zayn rolled his eyes as he took several steps forward, signing the drying paint then taking a few more steps back, pacing the room to look at the painting from every angle.

“Art isn’t about being told what to feel it’s about feeling. If you were going to name it what would you call it then Sir High and Mighty Writer Man?” Zayn did an impromptu bow at that to be melodramatic.

Louis stood there in their dimly lit flat, with his lover he wasn’t sure he ever loved, feeling cold seep into his bones. He looked at the black canvas, then moved his eyes to the flecks and stripes of different shades of white paint: snow, ivory, cream and beige. Louis spoke the first word that came to mind,

“Melancholy.”

Zayn had rolled his eyes and just hummed.

“Oh, you really think I want posh pricks who think their shit smells like roses and they piss looks like _Pepto Bismol_ ogling at my painting?”

“If you want the money to live in this shitty flat, then yeah… I think you want that.”

For a moment the two men had a silent stare-off, just looking at one another with locked lips and squared jaws before Zayn gave in, scribbling the name down beside his signature. He spun on his heels and raises his brows as if to silently say ‘happy?’ They were at the part in their relationship where they didn’t need to speak to know what the other was thinking. They looked and knew.

The day rose and fell with the same common occurrences. Louis didn’t cook dinner, nor did Zayn. They argued about whom should before settling on cheap Chinese take out. They ate out of the same container so they wouldn’t have to fight about who would wash up their plates. There was no washing up, no argument. Zayn lit a cigarette, offering his lighter to Louis and he shook his head ever so slightly,

“I’m quitting,”

His eyes were fixated on the crappy dinnertime game show that they watched every day, day in, day out. Louis didn’t even like the show. The contestants were all stupid, and wearing fake grins so wide it looked as if it would crack their pretty fake faces in two. Zayn, on the other hand, looked quite the opposite as he lit his own cigarette, and took a long drag, holding the smoke for a moment before letting it drift through the air.

“Why would you be doing something stupid like that?”

Most decisions Louis made of his own Zayn would deem stupid. Louis blamed it mostly on his pugnacious personality. Maybe it was the fact that at least when they were fighting they were feeling something, it wasn’t the constant numb sensation he got while they sat together smoking mindlessly with little to no actual communication.

“New Year’s resolution,” Was Louis’ muted answer.

“Well, New Year’s resolutions are shit for one, don’t work for two and for three it’s not the New Year yet and last but not least, four, this isn’t an ordinary cigarette.” 

Zayn had wiggled his brows ever so slightly and Louis had to act surprised that he was in fact smoking weed when he knew it was nothing out of the ordinary for the two of them. It was a very mundane occurrence.

“I can see... If I take it will you quit pissing me off?” Zayn nodded and rummaged around in his pocket, rolling up a spliff for Louis and handing it over to him.

Louis inhaled and mindlessly let his body sink down into the sofa. Zayn spoke, though Louis wasn’t too sure what about, his lips were moving but Louis shut them out. He didn’t really have to pay attention to what the lad was saying, most of the time it didn’t really matter. The drugs seeped into his body, loosening his body and hazing his mind. The conversation would be lost in the drug haze, there was something about how it was scientifically proven tomatoes scream when you cut them so vegans are just as bad as meat eaters and maybe everyone should just live off ramen because then the world would be a better place. Louis found himself speaking out, interrupting whatever Zayn had been saying,

“I love you.”

He wasn’t sure if he meant it but maybe he could get Zayn to say it back. The younger boy looked his way and cocked a brow, his eyes slightly bloodshot.

“Yeah? Love you too.”

No ‘I’. Just love you. It didn’t feel like it was enough. 

That night they didn’t shag in the bedroom under _Sex_ , which hung above their mantle as per usual. It burned like a bright red beacon, laced with undertones of cooling blue. It was a sight Louis was used to seeing while he was fingernails deep in bare flesh. Not tonight. Tonight they fucked on the sofa while _Melancholy_ the monochrome monolith sat there staring them right in the face.

 

**_Scene 3_ **

**_Au Chien Andalou_ **

**_(Weird French Torture Porn)_ **

Louis wasn’t sure what possessed him to end up in the café again, eyes fixated on the board wondering what he should have this time, passively waiting, hoping even, for a second body to call from his side again. It did.

“What didn’t you like yesterday’s choice of beverage?” It was the same voice, deep and rich, with the slightly slow and rhythmic manner of a metronome.

“I loved it actually, but I figured I got something I was used to, maybe I should try something new. What is that overly stated theory about ‘New Year, new me’ or some bullshit like that.” He caught the lad smiling in his peripheral vision. 

“I’m guessing you're not one to believe in that kind of ‘bullshit’? Though the New Year is still about a week away, you are jumping the gun slightly.”

“Oh, my life is a living metaphor for jumping the gun.” 

They were smiling at one another, the other boy’s body inching closer, long limbs swinging at his side. It looked an awful lot like flirting, though maybe Louis was reading into it in that manner because he wanted him to be and that was slightly twisted. Louis was slightly twisted, though he already knew that if he were honest with himself.

“Well if you would like something different I can give you my order and maybe we can sit and chat. I might get my regular seat back today.”

So this was a regular stop for the other boy. Louis wasn’t too sure why, but he made a mental note of that. Somewhere in the dark corners of his mind, he felt like he was cheating. He wasn’t, but maybe he was. Those big green eyes made his mind feel like cheating. They made him forget Zayn, forget his shitty flat with shitty heating, made him forget the cold, forget how close they were standing. He could forget his own name looking at those eyes, but he had to play it cool.

“Where is your regular seat?” He asked curiously as reality finally came back to him, or he came back to it.

“See the one over there by the window?”

The silken smooth voice spoke words that soaked into Louis’ flesh, warmth spreading through his limbs. How could anyone be cold when standing beside someone like this boy? The boy who, he still didn’t know the name of. If he did Louis feared it would be too late. He would have gone past the point of no return with the utterance of a simple name. He didn’t want it, didn’t need it.

The seat was the very same one Louis had sat in the day before and he felt a violent pink flush bleed across his cheeks. He should have said something kind, something smart, and something witty. Anything would have been better than what he had said. 

“I didn’t see your name on it.” God. Zayn was rubbing off on him.

The man didn’t take it as a challenge like Zayn would have, instead, he shot his kind of goofy smile and ushered Louis to take a set in the place near the window.

“You go sit there, I’ll get us both some coffee, then we can chat.”

Louis should have said something at this point like, ‘oh I have to go’ or ‘I am actually with someone’ but none of this passed his lips. Instead, he acted like a lap dog with his tail between his legs, going to take a seat across from the one the boy had indicated as his. 

It wasn’t more than five minutes before the lanky lad was sitting opposite him, passing him a coffee. Louis clutched the warm cup and got a whiff of the noxious concoction of sugar, cream and coffee. 

“Sweet?” Louis quipped.

“Sweet enough,” Was the man’s reply.

The man then moved his coffee cup to the side ever so slightly and pointed to the place at the very corner of the table, indicating to the small letter ‘H’ engraved into the mahogany table. H. Louis was guessing this man was H. 

“My name is on it. I’m Harry by the way.”

Harry, such a classic British name. Louis had known five different Harrys in his life and yet at hearing this boy’s name it was as if all the other Harrys were utterly outshone, they didn’t exist. Not even the bloody prince or wizard. This was the only Harry that ever existed and ever would. He had hit the point of no return.

Louis found himself digging his hands into the depths of his pockets; past the packet of cigarettes he was still carrying and grabbed his flat key. He shot Harry a devilish smirk and stood, positioning himself close to the edge of the table, etching in a small ‘L’ beside the ‘H’.

“Anyone can scribble their name on a table, Harold. I’m Louis,” He spoke, extending a hand for him to shake then internally slapped himself. 

What the bloody hell was that? Were they at a bloody business meeting? Why the hell had he gone for a handshake? Only business men, sleazy car dealers and Louis' uncle Richard who wore enough grease in his hair to cook chips for the entirety of a kids birthday party at a fast food joint and now Louis had added his name to the list of people who shook hands. Idiot. Wanker. 

The boy just smiles, the kind of dimpled grin that Louis would like to look at in the morning sun on the other side of satin sheets. Red alert. Too deep. Take a U-turn when possible. These thoughts weren’t healthy.

“Well Lewis, it looks like you’ve just made it our table.” Louis hid a smile.

“Well, I’m not too sure if I want to share a table with someone who watches black and white torture porn in his spare time.” Did he really just say-? 

“What? Oh… yesterday? That’s not... I’m a film student at university. That was Un Chien Andalou. It’s amazing it’s this French film by a Spanish director and even Salvador Dali helped to make the film he’s an-”

“He’s an artist… he does the funny clocks right?” Louis asked as he took a small sip of his coffee, it was sickly sweet and yet he liked it.

“You’re into art?” Harry’s voice seemed to echo a slight surprise.

“Not really, my boyfriend is mad about it, he thinks he’s going to be the next Van Gogh.”

There it was. The words Louis should have spoken from the very first second Harry had invited him to sit. He had a boyfriend. Yet, for some reason he hadn’t said it.

For a second he could swear he saw the other boy’s face fall, though it could have been a trick of the light as within seconds he was back again, smiling faintly and pulling out his laptop.

“Well you, Louis, are about to learn about the art of film.” He smirked, today he pulled out a set of ear buds and ushered for Louis to sit next to him.

Louis was about to say how he much preferred the written word and probably just wanted to sit in a corner, sip his coffee, read a good novel and pout over the current state of the world when he remembers he was meant to be expanding his horizons. He gave a tight-lipped smile and nodded, moving over with Harry, placing in an ear bud and watching as he saw the same black and white scrawling titles from the day before fill his vision. 

He was surprised when he found himself bewitched by this strange world of black and white, while time both passed in great leaps and bounds and there was no way at all one scene connected to the other. One moment there was a boy on a bike in a maid outfit and the next there was a woman and a man ogling at bugs crawling from a gnawed hole in the man’s hand. It was this odd mix of disjointed gore and awe that reminded Louis of a poem. He could understand, in a way, the point which they were trying to get across while still feeling as if he were missing something of great importance. As the last scene rolled by Louis looked to Harry slack-jawed.

“What was that? They- one moment it was and then…” Harry smiled widely as Louis for once was slightly lost for words.

“It was made to kind of mimic a dream, how scenes, themes and stories cut. It’s pretty much a fifteen-minute long dream sequence for a waking viewer. It’s one of my favourites.” He whispered faintly watching as Louis just looked at the scene then back to Harry. He was a bloody pretentious arse hipster, but from the shimmer in his eyes, Louis knew it was something that he loved. There was something almost amazing talking to someone about something they loved and Louis might even be able to admit that a small part of himself loved it too.

Louis’ coffee had gone cold in the time it had taken them to watch the film. He had forgotten about everything except Harry, the film and the lad’s breath on the nape of his neck.

“I want to watch another,” Louis uttered looking to Harry with the same kind of wide-eyed enthusiasm.

“You’re not just saying that?” Harry asked incredulously,

“Not worried people in the streets will think we are watching ‘torture porn’ or something?” Fuck, Louis had forgotten about that.

“No… I was a pretentious arse hat for thinking that. And I want to watch another if you don’t mind spending time with me that is. I guess I would get it if you thought I was a royally fickle dick, most people do.”

Again, Harry was smiling with his mouth too large, Jagger-like lips stretching to expose very, ‘un-English like’ straight teeth. He was finding himself rather fond of that smile as they settled in for the next film. Harry’s squared shoulders were pushing against Louis’ small frame. He was warm to the touch, so much so Louis could feel the blood in his veins bubble with the heat and rise to the surface of his skin.

They ended up settled in for hours that day in the small café, having to order another round of coffee and lunch just so they wouldn’t get kicked out for loitering in the place. By the end of their time together the two had watched: Le Voyage Dans la Lune, Nosferatu, Metropolis and Eraser Head. Louis was surprised to say he hadn’t had a day like this in a long while, one where he actually didn’t want for it to end.

From the way Harry’s eyes lingered on Louis’ frame as he stood something told him Harry felt the same. This was one moment he wished, hoped and prayed would last forever though he knew it would never work. Harry and Louis were each other’s escape for the day. Louis was escaping from the normalcy and repetitiveness of his own life and Harry- well Louis didn’t know what he was running from. They hadn’t talked much, only on the subject of the films and even then it was mostly muted. It wasn’t that they had nothing to talk about, it was just for once Louis felt comfortable in the silence and didn’t feel the constant need to act like a boom box, spitting out meaningless noise to drown out the nothingness.

“I’ve got to go Harry. It’s getting really late…” Harry nodded, but before Louis could turn his back and leave his little peace of heaven, or as Bukowski would say, nirvana, Harry spoke.

“Wait- I’ll be here same time, same place tomorrow. Would you- if you weren’t busy… You could come-?” Louis tried to hold in a chuckle at Harry’s fumbling. 

“I will be here, maybe a little later. I have work in the morning, but I will be here… Yeah? See you here. Bring more films curly I’m rather enjoying myself.” He noted with a wide smirk while Harry quickly shook his head.

“No way. I’ve had my day. Tomorrow is your day Lou. Surely you must have something you’re into to show me.”

Louis had paused at the spot where he was standing as he thought about what he could show Harry. He wasn’t that into films like Harry was, everything he liked probably came out within the last few years and Louis didn’t have to be a genius to know they weren’t very technical or critically acclaimed films.

“Come on, anything? I don’t care if you’re into… I don’t know space, history, weird raw fish food-”

“That would be sushi, Styles. Quite a wordsmith aren’t you?” He questioned before pausing as it hit him, though he was slightly scared of being judged. 

“I like… literature. Poetry in particular… don’t laugh yeah?”

Harry shook his head quickly, brows furrowing as if not even able to comprehend why Louis would think he would laugh at him. Zayn would probably laugh at him… most of his friends would just brush him off when he tried to talk about it so instead he went on to topics like football or a party from ten years ago because for some reason they were so much more riveting and all the old woman in the library wanted to know what were they cold find the Mills and Boons section or if there were any ‘computers for dummies’ novels in the shop.

“I think that’s really cool actually. I wouldn’t laugh at it. The only poetry I really know is from high school English, but I’m sure you could catch me up to speed Dr Seuss is pretty cool, one fish, two fish and all that.” Louis finds himself smiling,

“Yeah, I will. Don’t you worry about that and yeah Seuss is pretty amazing.”

Louis was about to exit when he paused, looking over his shoulder at Harry and smiled a smile he hadn’t known was in him. It was so long since he had pulled it from the attics of his addict mind, he had almost forgotten such a smile existed. 

“We are all lost. Goodbye, goodbye,” Louis muttered and Harry mirrors the smile. 

“What is that from?”

“The People Look Like Flowers At Last, Charles Bukowski. I’m can’t remember the exact poem.”

“I’ve never heard of him.” Louis’ smile turns cheeky. 

“Trust me, by the end of tomorrow you would have. He’s my favourite… like ever.”

Harry was just smiling and nodding his head.

“I’m sure I’ll love him.” 

With that Louis left, hit again with the rough onslaught of the bitter winter freeze. He didn’t care. For once his mind was elsewhere, still trapped in that little café, in his safe haven, in his nirvana. He was almost sure that was where, he too, left his heart. 

Louis shoved his hands into the depths of his pockets and found his fingers brushing the packet of cigarettes, realising that for once he hadn’t smoked one all day. At the thought of going home, he pulled out a cigarette and a lighter, watching the spark ignite before wrapping his lips around the object and waiting for tomorrow to come sooner.

 

_**Scene 4** _

_**Bukowski and Spielberg Sitting in a Tree** _

Louis’ knapsack was filled to the brim and bursting with borrowed copies of his favourite novels and poetry books. It had been quite the hike to the café from the familiar residence of his workplace and the heavy novels weren’t exactly helping, but it all felt worth it when Louis entered, hearing the tinkling of a bell as he swung the door open finding Harry in the same seat as the previous day with two coffees before him, one in front of him, one opposite.

Harry’s face grew almost ethereally illuminated when his eyes met Louis’. Honestly, why did the boy look so surprised? Louis had said he would come and he had come. If he were honest he had been counting down the seconds to their encounter and that scared him. It felt so right to be with Harry and he felt too dirty for feeling this way.

Louis sat, his hands instantly embracing the heat of the coffee a wide smile sparking across his face as he looked at Harry.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

They still needed to learn the act of talking to one another, but it was only their third meeting after all. Plus, Louis couldn’t be cheating with Harry, he had told him about Zayn. They both knew where they stood. They were nothing but friends. They could not be cheating.

Louis leant over to pull out several of the novels from his knapsack and splayed them over the table for Harry, watching as the boy’s eyes shifted over the titles though there was no spark of recognition in his eyes he simply looked at Louis as he asked,

“What’s your favourite? I know you like Bukowski. What’s your favourite poem from him?” 

Louis thought for a moment, pulling out his copy of The People Look Like Flowers at Last. That was a hard one to answer. He had so damn many favourites. Everyone was better than the last even the bitter and cynical ones somehow managed to sound beautiful. So many filled his mind and so he listed them,

“I couldn’t pick one, but if I had to pick some of my utter favourites… _People as Flowers, Heat, War and Peace, I Also Like to Look at Ceilings_ and _A Great Writer_ and- oh and _Our Deep Sleep_ and-” 

“Louis!” Harry cut in with the grin so wide it was about to crack his face in two.

“Yeah?”

Louis could feel his cheeks heating; having gotten carried away with himself, but there were so many good poems, all bound together within the confines of one simple novel. He really did love it and Harry could see that. He was smiling like the Cheshire Cat he was.

“Well, are you?”

“I took drama back in high school.” 

That was all Louis needed to say for Harry’s face to near split in half. Now there was no way Louis could say no to that goddamn face. His exterior was that of a metal suit of armour, but crack it and his insides were just bubbling mush. He was hopeless and weak. 

“So, say you’ll do it and read your goddamn poems to me writer boy.”

Zayn on several occasions had used the same nickname, but when Harry used it, it actually sounded genuine and not at all jaded. He was utterly surprised that the name could be used in such a way.

“The answer is maybe, and if you would hush Spielberg I would read them to you.” 

And so the other lad lapsed into silence and Louis read in the rhythmic tone of a storyteller, knowing each line off by heart and reading them as if he had written them himself. Harry fell into a silence, even at times his eyes would fall closed and Louis’ chest would clench, thinking he was boring the younger boy when Harry’s eyes would open again and beg for him to continue, and so Louis did.

From Silvia Plath to Pablo Neruda Louis read Harry all of his favourites and found conversation flowing easily between them, both from conversation on the poems to topics about one another. Louis soon learned that Harry not only had a love for films but also singing, he was one of those guys who actually would go and do karaoke sober, though he had admitted it was much more interesting drunk. He was close friends with a man slightly older than him, though younger than Louis, his name was Liam. He, on the other hand, was studying something to do with exercise science, which had made Louis scoff slightly since he was literally the least physical man in existence. He liked shitty takeaway foods and only jogged if it was necessary. Harry informed the lad he could cook rather well and had worked in a bakery for most of his teen years.

“You will have to pop over some time and cook for me.” Louis had chuckled softly while Harry screwed up his nose.

“What Mr Louis’ Other Half doesn’t cook?” At that Louis snickered.

“No, he definitely doesn’t. He doesn’t do too much as far as romantic gestures go.”

“But cooking isn’t a romantic gesture… it’s just- a gesture. I’m going to cook for you for a whole month if you help me with my movie.” 

“If” Louis stressed with a chuckle. 

“I still haven’t said yes, I hope you are aware.”

When the sun began to hang low in the sky Louis took it as his cue to leave and again, he felt this kind of pang in his chest, aching with absents before he even left. He shouldn’t feel like this. Louis was never one to fall in love or even into a state of infatuation so simply. They had known each other for a handful of moments and yet these moments seemed to be the only ones worth remembering in the last year of Louis’ existence.

Before leaving he place his copy of The People Look Like Flowers At Last on the table, just above the carved out L and H. He watched as Harry’s eyes skimmed it and again he smile,

“Thanks, I’ll probably stay up all night trying to finish it. I’m loving it so far and it’s actually giving me some ideas for my script- which is a welcome change from me sitting up until four in the morning ogling at a mostly blank sheet of paper.”

“Mostly blank?” Louis quipped as he scrapped the other books into his knapsack. The Bell Jar was the last to fall.

“Well, so far I have my name and ‘scene 1’… that’s it.” Louis chuckled faintly looking down at the rings lining the wooden table.

“That’s always a good start. Maybe by the end of the night you might muster a line of dialogue.”

“Hey, don’t push your luck Tomlinson.”

“I was born to push my luck Styles.”

 

_**Scene 5** _

_**Paradise Lost** _

Louis had arrived to an empty flat and with little to no desire to cook or eat. He instead headed to the bath with pen and notebook in hand. For the first time in a long time, he felt inspired. The dripping faucet carved out a rhythm for his words and the stillness of the small room gave him an odd kind of sense of déjà vu. He couldn’t help but wish Harry was here, he couldn’t give two fucks about where Zayn was or what he was getting up to. All he could think was how much he wanted to be gazing at wide green eyes. He sunk further down into the water, eyes fixated on the ceiling. When he let his eyes flutter shut all he could see was those goddamn green orbs, those violent sparks of evergreen. He found himself grabbing the pen and notepad, scribbling down his trail of thoughts in a poem.

Once finished, he realised he was both greatly proud that he had actually written something of this calibre after so long, but also a pang of guilt that he had essentially written some kind of romantic, pining bullshit on something he should have never wanted or even gotten a taste of. This was the poem he had written, 

There were more stars in his eyes

Then there were in the skies

His flesh a battlefield of uncertainties

I dare not tread

But to touch would be paradise.

Paradise from the lover I forgot to love

The lustful complex of lion and lamb beneath the sheets of hypocrisy,

Paradise from the stronghold that creaks and leaks,

Piss filled streets and the red herring above the mantle.

Paradise lost

Paradise found

Paradise too pure to handle.          

 L.T.

 

Before he could even consider writing anymore, there was the cracking sound of an open door and Louis found his face growing pale as he shut the book so swiftly it definitely looked as if he were up to something he shouldn’t have been. Maybe he had been but it wasn’t as if he was cheating. His mind was just wandering. It wasn’t a crime. He wasn’t cheating, just letting his mind wander.

“I’ve been yelling out your name for the past bloody ten minutes,” Zayn exclaimed coldly breezing into the bathroom, stripping down without another word, nudging Louis’ feet to one side so he could fit himself into the tub opposite the older lad.

“Sorry, I was-”

“Writing. I know. You always get that way when you’re writing, but it would be nice to at least know where you are when I get home.”

Louis’ brow rose slightly as he skimmed his fingers over the water in the tub. With Zayn’s new mass the water was near enough to overflowing.

“Pot, kettle. ‘Hey dude, you’re black’. Come on Z. Where the fuck were you?”

Zayn’s hand moved to rest on Louis’ knee and he could feel his stomach drop through the floor. Zayn being affectionate was never a good thing. It was a big red flag. Louis pulled back his hand roughly and furrowed his brow.

“I sold a few paintings, got a fairly good amount of money for it.” Louis held his breath and waited for a catch.

“And?” There was always an and or but. 

“Well- I sold quite a few to one person and the guy who bought them from me really liked _Sex_ he gave me about ten thousand quid for it.” Louis’ face was pale.

“You sold-” Louis was using his ‘you royally pissed me off’ voice and Zayn was on high alert as if knowing it was coming.

“For ten thousand quid. It was stupid anyway. I can paint another, no worries.”

“You can paint another?” Louis echoing hearing his own voice crack as he roughly shook his head moving to stand up from the tub.

“Bloody unbelievable, you sold it?”

“I didn’t think you were even the sentimental type.” 

Louis wrapped a towel around his frame and gathered up his things.

“I don’t think you know me that well at all. I thought you actually bloody cared,” He snapped ducking into their room and roughly pulling on his shirt and boxers.

“But wait. I am going to make it up to you. There is this big art exhibition in Paris, on New Year’s Eve and I’m taking you with me.” Zayn seemed to think this would make everything utterly better but instead more fury burned behind Louis’ eyes.

“I’m bloody working that afternoon Zayn to actually have constant money coming in to pay for this shit flat of ours and be able to constantly keep our fucking heads above water. If I say I can’t work that day my arse is going to get fired. You didn’t do this you did it for yourself.” He snapped roughly going to stalk away when Zayn gripped his arm tightly. 

“I thought you would be excited for me. News flash Louis you are just as selfish as I am- even more so. At least I don’t sneak around meeting other lads.” Louis’ eyes shot open, mouth hung agape.

“I haven’t done anything wrong here Zayn. I’m faithful. Your jealous arse can make in into whatever the hell you want it to be but I don’t fucking want to waste my breath on this conversation. You can sleep on the sofa.” Louis snapped barricading himself up in their room his back pressed against the door, his breath shaky as he felt his body sliding downwards, falling to the floor, watching as his little imperfect world came crashing down around him.

 

**_Scene 6_ **

**_Giving your whole heart away_ **

**_(A very wise Irishmen)_ **

The passing days brings a steady kind of warming stillness. The following two days Harry and Louis meet up. Harry assigns Louis films to watch and Louis gives Harry poems to read. Louis can’t stop writing poems for Harry and it’s slightly disconcerting, even to his own mind. He is starting to fill his small notebook with scribbling love declarations. His heart was sick with love. Home life, on the other hand, had fallen into an awkward kind of unsteady. Zayn packed his things and on the third day was off to Paris with a decent amount of their savings being blown on the trip.

The fourth day was New Year’s Eve, and though Louis would love to spend it with Harry he not only had to work late, but also was meeting up with another one of his friends, Niall. The two had met when Niall moved from Ireland to London, in a pub of all places. The two got to talking. They both knew how to have a good time. The small, fake blond, Irish lad was the type of person you would always wish to have around for thick or thin. 

Louis still couldn’t go without seeing Harry for a whole day (desperate as it was) and so he arranged for himself and Niall to go to the café with Harry. The café nowadays near seemed like a church for Louis. He didn’t believe in that type of thing really, religion and all that mumbo jumbo, it was as equally valid to him as there being monsters under the bed of every four-year-old child the world over. Passive nihilism aside, this place was where he found solace. Louis and Niall were on the way there now, Niall shooting Louis an incredulous gaze.

“So this lad we are going to see, you’re new mate- he’s just that?” 

Louis rolled his eyes, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket, it was his last day before he was going to try and quit, and therefore he was practically chain-smoking all day. This was his fourth in as many hours.

“Just that. What else would he be? You know Zayn and I are dating.” Niall chuckled at that shaking his head.

“I figured one of you might have got some common sense and broken up with the other. As friends you guys were inseparable, you knew how to have a good time, but as boyfriends, it’s like you enjoy making each other miserable.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“What are we like five now?”

Niall gave his wide smile and chortling laugh as it became clear he had thought up something he considered to be a really good comeback.

“Oh, did I miss your birthday? You’re five now?”

“That wasn’t anywhere near as funny as you thought it was.”

“Fuck off.”

That was the ending of the topic and Louis was thankful. He didn’t want to think about Zayn. He knew in so many ways that neither boy was particularly good for the other, but it was more than that. Zayn was heat in the bed beside him. Zayn was a face to come home to every day. Zayn was a boom box to blast out the silence of being alone. Zayn was the drug to curve his cravings. He wasn’t helping Louis get better, just keeping him sane.

Harry was waiting in the regular spot, wide smile on his lips and coffee in hand. He stood to meet Niall, even going as far as to shake his hand. Louis couldn’t help but fight back a wide grin. Add Harry to the list of people who shook hands then.

They both mumbled introductions and Louis quickly did the ridiculous ‘Niall, Harry… Harry, Niall’ thing, then found himself taking the seat beside Harry opposed to opposite him. 

“How is that script going Curly?” 

“Better than last time. I now have about five lines of dialogue that I am ten seconds away from scrapping.”

Louis hummed taking a sip of his coffee, which changed every day. Today it wasn’t as sweet and the times prior though it tasted like it had some kind of vanilla additive. It wasn’t bad.

Louis had smiled softly and offered to help before moving onto the next topic, jumping around about trivial topics even getting onto the conversation of who would win in a fight of onscreen violence, general gore and explosions Tarantino or Michael Bay. Niall even joined in on the fight, putting his money on Tarantino.

“You kidding me mate? Michael Bay would do some cool arse explosions, but Tarantino would have a slow arse, gruesome arse death scene. He would kick arse.”

Never had the word arse been used to many times in the one sentence. It was the colourful language of Niall James Horan. They all had to laugh and agree on that matter. There wasn’t too much to fight about in the literary world other than which writers would come back from the dead just to kick E.L James where it hurt, along with all the other shitty writers who had somehow managed to get on the best sellers list. The number was standing somewhere around twenty-three because writers were vengeful bastards. 

Niall talked about the upcoming sports events, who would win the next Euro Cup, which tennis and golf players were doing well and all that kind of thing. It was a nice conversation. It came easily. The next conversation, however, wasn’t one that came easily.

“So Harry… what are you doing tonight for New Years? Louis has been abandoned and I have… some prior arrangements. You two could hang out.” As the words fell from Niall’s lips Louis’ eyes cut deeply into his flesh internally chanting ‘shut up, shut up, shut up,’ over and over again. What the hell was Niall even doing?

“Oh me? Not much I was just going to try and find a good spot to film the fireworks. I was meant to go out with a mate, but apparently, something came up with this guy he’s seeing so it looks like I’ve been ditched as well.” Harry shot Louis a soft smile, obviously thinking that Louis was upset for saying he had gotten ditched and not picking up on the fact that for some reason Niall was playing wingman.

“Yeah, I guess it beats staying at home and watching crappy telly I suppose.”

Harry smiled widely as if he had actually thought Louis would have said no. Their eyes met. Louis melted slightly, biting the inside of his lip, casting his eyes downwards quickly. He needed to get out, now or it would be too late. Though he swore he said that a few scenes back. Maybe he was just too far gone already.

“Anyway, Harry, text me the address and I’ll meet up with you for the fireworks.”

Harry smiled and nodded his head slightly as Louis stood listening to Niall’s muttered goodbye. As soon as they were out of view of the café and out of earshot, Louis let out the storm of emotions he had been holding in. 

“What in the ever loving fuck Horan?”

Niall shook his head slightly shooting Louis an incredulous glance.

“You are my best mate Tomlinson and I couldn’t bloody deal with you two eye fucking one another and flirting so damn hard while your real boyfriend couldn’t give two shits about you because you can’t give two shits about him. I’m taking your love life into my own hands since you can’t seem to handle yourself too well with it. You could say my New Year’s Resolution is to help you sort your shit out.” 

Louis scoffed as he kicked at the pavement biting his lip raw because this wasn’t right. They both knew that much.

“As a summary, my life is a fucking mess and Zayn isn’t helping so you think Harry just might.”

Niall shot him a lopsided smile, swinging his arm around the slightly smaller boy’s shoulder and leaning against his frame causing them both to sway slightly to one side, near enough to crashing into an elderly woman who glared at the two and mumbled something about the state of the world nowadays. 

“Exactly Tomlinson. Another lover hits the universe and all that.” 

Louis took a step back to get a better look at the blond lad, seeming slightly perplexed by his words.

“Niall, did you just quote Allen Ginsberg?” Niall gave a cheeky wiggle of his brow. 

“I don’t ignore your poetry shit all the time, from time to time I do listen. What was it? ‘Another lover hits the universe, the circle is broken. But with death comes rebirth, and like all lovers and sad people, I am a poet.’ Or something pretentious like that” Niall chortled reading it in an overdramatic manner and when finishing doing an overdramatic bow.

“I am not your classic air head, bottle blond. I can be deep and pensive, bitter and twisted just like you if I have to.” Louis faked a gasp.

“I’m not bitter.”

“You must eat so many lemons because you are so bitter.” Niall hummed in a sing-song tone a skip in his step. 

“You are aware you are essentially aiding and abetting me cheating on my boyfriend right?” Niall rolled his eyes.

“You two need to break up. When are you going to wake up to that?”

Louis looked down to the ground, shaking his head weakly, pulling out a cigarette and continuing his chain-smoking manner.

“If I leave him who’s going to want me?” He uttered in his kind of melodramatic manner.

“Are you kidding Tomlinson? That fucking curly haired lad was head over heels for you.”

“He isn’t, he just likes my company. He’s a friend.”

“Stop projecting Tomlinson. That’s you and Zayn, isn’t it? Just… company so you don’t have to come home alone. So you can have the comfort of saying you have a boyfriend and you can go home and have sex then migrate to the other sides of the bed and moan to your best friends about how much you hate one another and wish he were fucking someone else but really are just scared of love because giving your whole heart away means that at one point someone might break it. When it comes to love, you are a pussy.” 

Louis shook his head slightly lips locked tight to keep himself from saying anything he could regret, but his mind was spinning and swimming with bitter insults.

“Have you quite finished?” He seethed. 

“Yes.”

**_Interlude_ **

 

The city was abuzz with light, colour and drunken fools stumbling through the streets of London. For once the freezing weather couldn’t keep anyone inside. He found himself with Harry, both opting for the underground opposed to trying to get anywhere in the bumper-to-bumper traffic. They sat almost too close for comfort, shoulders touching, knees brushing and Harry’s camera bag cluttering back and forth between their bodies.

“Brining in the New Year with glamour I see.” Louis chuckled, his hands staying clasped in his lap twisting and fiddling with his cufflinks. He was worried if they were not he would then try to hold Harry’s hand. His skin itched for it. Twitched for it.

“What the underground, filled with drunk and sweaty twenty-year-olds club hopping, isn’t glamorous enough for you?”

“It looks like someone has actually learned the art sarcasm. I might be proud of you Styles.”

Harry shot him a shit-eating grin and leant across to grasp Louis’ fingers, removing them from the cufflinks, shooting him a wicked glare before seeing the hurt in Harry’s eyes. Louis was all bark and no bite, seeing a surprised sadness twist behind his eyes unsteadied him.

“Sorry, I'm just not used to this whole suit thing- which by the way… why am I wearing a suit?” Again there was that wicked grin.

“Maybe I just wanted to get you into a suit, bring in the New Year with a bang.”

There was a coy smile, but he didn’t speak to question this instead he found his knee moving to press against Harry’s for a fraction of a second before recoiling back as he came to his senses.

“Cheeky,” He mumbled.

The train announced a stop, which honestly Louis didn’t seem to recognise, but beside him, Harry’s body jerked upwards and his hand extended back to hold the cuff of Louis’ shirt, dragging him along after him.

“This our stop?” Louis couldn’t help but wonder aloud,

“Yep.” 

“You going to tell me where we are going?” There was another coy smile mirrored back at him. 

“Well… no. But first I’m going to have to ask you, how you feel about petty crimes?”

That wasn’t exactly what Louis had thought was coming next but something inside his chest clenched with a kind of excitement. As a borderline drug addict, Louis was fairly knowledgeable in petty crime. 

“Well, I’ve dabbled in it,” Louis smirked and watched Harry’s grin widen.

“Feel like doing a little more dabbling?”

 

**_Scene 7_ **

**_This is the New Year_ **

There was a particularly magical feel to that night of all nights and for once, Louis’ stomach flipped at the thought of petty crime. His stomach a hollowed out tree filled with butterflies as the sky was alight with stars, slightly blurred by the city’s light pollution and the horizon peppered with city lights. For a moment his eyes were locked on the ethereal iridescence with a kind of awe, leaving his jaw hanging slack at his boots. It was a night full of possibility.

Louis then turned, surprised to see that Harry had stopped walking, pulled out his camera and began to film the boy as he looked out at the buzzing, late-night city streets of London. Louis felt his cheeks flushed scarlet.

“You are aware I still haven’t agreed to be in your movie Styles.”

 “I know but you will agree. I know you. I can tell.”

Louis made his way back to Harry’s side, hands grasping the camera and spinning it to face Harry. He wasn’t anywhere near as good as Harry, but the lad had yapped on enough about the rule of thirds and the whole, shot reverse shot thing, that he could manage to get a decently framed shot of the lad. He wasn’t completely hopeless after all.

“Cheeky lad,” Louis smiled before handing him back the camera, half worried his shaky hands would grow clumsy and drop the object. It was too precious for Louis to fiddle with. Harry treated his camera as Louis treated his notebooks and god only knew what Louis would do if something happened to those.

“Now, where are we going?” Louis questioned, looking around the streets for some kind of clue as to where their destination would be.

“Here.”

Here, was a fairly lavish looking hotel which perplexed Louis greatly as he didn’t see why this was so interesting or involved petty crime. Harry leant in a little too close for comfort, his lips practically brushing Louis’ flesh as he spoke. 

“We have to get out story straight.” His breath was hot on Louis’ cheek.

“And what is our story?”

“I don’t know. You’re the writer. I just made sure with both looked the part, I’m the visual one, right?” 

Louis’ mind was quick to fabricate a story, which seemed to fit the scene. Harry and Louis were awfully close to one another, both in suits on New Year’s Eve. 

“First of all, tell me why we are here.”

“Well, the roof of this hotel has one of the best views of the city, the fireworks would look amazing for it. The only problem is that you have to at least look like a guest just to get into the place and the roof is technically off limits- but you know… minor set back.” 

Louis seemed to like this idea. He could feel a wide smile inching its way over his lips. Maybe this night really was filled with promise.

“You, Mister Styles, a the budding French filmmaker and were featured in last year’s Sundance film festival. It had something to do with the inevitability of death portrayed through something utterly ridiculous, like space cats and drying paint. Your father in a multi-billionaire who owns several car companies and with his support you were easily able to be an amateur filmmaker with the budget to rival some Hollywood films. As for me, I am your fiancé. My father owns a rival Italian sports car company and therefore we ran away to London to elope like Romeo and Juliet- except, you know, we actually love each other and have known each other for several years, not several hours.”

Louis came up with that almost too quickly and he wasn’t so sure if he should be proud. He could feel Harry nodding at the web of lies he had spun only making one small altercation.

“That sounds like a good plan, but there is one fatal flaw my Italian Maserati.”

Harry gestured to Louis’ bare hands before his fingertips graced over his own, each finger seeming to bear a ring. He spared one, which looked the most like one may give out as an engagement ring. It was slightly large on Louis’ fingers and as he was not used to the sensation, it made his hand feel heavy. 

“Now our plan will go off without a hitch.” Harry beamed and dragged Louis towards the elevator.

“That way if anyone tries to ask us why we are on the roof, we could just pretend we are shit at English.” Harry giggled and mumbled a few lines of French. Louis didn’t speak it well, but it was something about going to the cinemas with a friend or a boyfriend and his family.

Louis chuckled softly, nodding his head and holding his finger up as he watched Harry push the button for the top floor, feeling the elevator rumble to life and start a steady ascent. 

“I brought something since you said you weren’t driving and I’m not driving as well as the fact that my lame arse boyfriend isn’t home for the New Year and I’ve stacked up on champagne, I figured I might bring a bottle for you.” Louis tried and failed not to sound bitter. Then again, he did have every god damn right to be, didn’t he?

 

Louis rummaged through his own backpack and passed the bottle to Harry, who chuckled happily, spending the rest of the elevator ride trying to remove the cork from the bottle, managing to get it once the doors slid open revealing an uttering awe-inspiring view of the London skyline from about twelve floors up.

Harry had already managed to slop champagne on his dress pants and on Louis’ shoes. It was all right though. It wasn’t like Louis would be wearing his fancy shoes anytime soon. This was the first time he had rummaged them from the depths of his closet in two years. He and Zayn weren’t exactly the type for fancy dinners, their fancy was having food that came on a plate opposed to containers or was actually cooked opposed to premade or microwaved.

“Are we really drinking out of the bottle?” Harry asked curiously as he stepped out onto the breezy rooftop his body swaying slightly in the icy breeze. The breeze caught his cropped curls and sent them tumbling this way and that. Louis found himself captivated for a moment before he shook himself from his daydream, remembering that Harry had just asked him a question. He needed to learn how to keep his composure a little bit better than he was now, as he feared he was an open book. 

“Yeah, like proper alcoholics, I know.”

Harry seemed to accept this taking a long swig of the champagne, his nose screwing up slightly at the taste before passing it over to Louis who did the same. While Louis took several more swigs Harry started to set up his camera and tripod, walking about trying to find the best location for the viewing of the fireworks. Louis looked down at his watch seeing that they had about half an hour to burn. He tried his best to pry his eyes from Harry and out to the streets. It was a beautiful kind of chaos in the streets. Louis couldn’t help but think that most of the thoughts swimming about in his mind would be described the same way.

Harry and Louis began to chat as they always would in the café, once the camera was set up, then both boys moved to the edge of the building, sitting with their legs dangling freely over the side, taxis attempting to whiz through the crowded streets beneath them. The boys began passing the bottle between the two of them as conversation flowed easily.

“I’m glad we both got ditched tonight, Lou, if I’m honest.”

“Shhhh. Who is this Lou you speak of? I’m Luigi your Italian fiancé for the rest of this year Curly.”

Harry let out an ugly kind of cackle, where his nose cricked and his body shook, laughing so hard it lost any sound. He just sat there shaking, gasping for air and for some reason Louis couldn’t help but join him.

“Luigi? What is your brother’s name? Bloody Mario?” Louis laughed a little harder.

“How did you know?” He gasped out taking another swig of the bottle, his head leaning over to push against Harry’s shoulder trying to muffle his ugly laughing, sure he probably looked an utter maniac, but it didn’t matter. For the first time in a long time, Louis was having an utterly amazing time.

They only stopped laughing when a loud crack sounded and the sky exploded with colour. Harry leapt up to push the record button on his camera before stumbling back to Louis, slinging his arm around his shoulder. He watched in awe at the colours in the sky while Louis bellowed out,

“Happy New Year!” While raising the nearly empty bottle of champagne in the air. 

Harry pulled Louis’ body slightly closer to him, giggling and yelling it out loudly as well, before pointing to one of the blue fireworks sparkling against the night sky. 

“That’s you. It’s like your eyes.” He beamed, resting his and Louis’ foreheads together. Sober Louis might have had the willpower to pull back, but drunken Louis was utterly fucked.

Louis pointed over to the sparking of green fire in the sky right beside where the blue one had slowly begun to dwindle.

“That’s you,” He giggled.

It seemed like the phrase, ‘in your right mind’ didn’t seem to apply to either of the lads. That didn’t matter. Not that night, maybe it would in the morning, but for now nothing mattered. It was just them and the dawn of a New Year.

“You know, I’ve never had a New Year kiss,” Harry whispered offhandedly, their foreheads were still pushed up against one another. Louis' heart started to pound rapidly, beating so hard and fast he was worried his ribs might just crack open and he would have to sit and watch his heart leap from his chest and fly to the concrete below them in some kind of overwhelmed love suicide.

“Nor have I.” It didn’t matter what happened tonight. Louis would deal with it in the morning.

They were kissing, a slow action at first. It started with the pensive brushing of skin, moving to the crushing of lips and the mingling of tongues in mouths and fingers in curls. They pulled and pushed like to tide, tugging hair and force of a hungry kiss. Harry tasted of champagne and spearmint, smelling like some kind of cologne, which would be far too expensive for Louis to even look at and maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him but somewhere under the musk of his fruity shampoo Louis could swear he also smelled coffee.

This wasn’t right, not right now and yet it was. Louis would deal with it in the morning. It was the New Year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acts 2 and 3 are coming soon, feel free to leave questions, queries, comments, kudos and anything you might like to see in the following Acts as they are currently still being written. That's for sticking with me thus far. I hope you are enjoying the ride.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things both get much better and much worse.

**_ Act 2 _ **

**_ A Fine Evening for A Rogue _ **

Deadly Ash of everything we’ve mauled it to pieces

Ripped the dead off, the arms, the legs,

Cut away the sexual organs and pissed on the heart.

Goodbye, My Love- Charles Bukowski

**_Scene 1_ **

**_Morning Louis still isn’t dealing with it_ **

Morning Louis was a mess. He awoke on the roof with his head pounding like a heartbeat, the sounds of car horns blaring in the city beneath his feet awoke him, ringing loudly. He squinted into the midday sun, feeling slightly sore and sunburned. But here was the kicker. Beside him was the body of a larger boy, his curled hair mattered into a mess of knots atop his head while his mouth hung slightly agape, chest rising and falling slowly with sleep. Great.

The night before started to piece itself together slowly in broken fragments. Louis remembered getting slightly too drunk and going slightly too far. Was it Louis or Harry who moved in for the kiss first? If it was Harry could it still be considered cheating? Did Louis kiss him back? He already knew the answer as soon as the question popped into his head. Yeah, he kissed him back. Of course, he had kissed Harry back. He remembered tugging his curls, biting his lip. He remembered how Harry’s mere touch caused his skin erupts in gooseflesh. For a moment Louis dared to wonder if the two had slept together. He wasn’t too sure.

Harry was dressed if nothing else, so Louis wasn’t going to be utterly and entirely in the doghouse. From what he remembered it had just been a kiss, from there things grew hazy. He wasn’t drunk enough to have forgotten if they had sex. He felt like sex with a creature so god-like would be difficult to forget even if he was ever so slightly inebriated. Zayn was going to- shit he didn’t even know. He cheated. Fuck.

A part of his mind was still trying to convince himself it wasn’t that big of a deal. Louis had watched Zayn snog lads while they played stupid party games like spin the bottle. Louis had gotten over it. Maybe Zayn would too. Still, Louis couldn’t help but feel his stomach sink as he looked at the sleeping lad. He should go, spare himself the awkward conversation that would inevitably have to follow because it seemed like Harry might feel something for him as well. Either that or he was just really drunk and thought kissing would be a fun thing to do, but Harry didn’t seem like the type. Louis always had to keep his options open, keep a level head at all times when approaching this situation.

He found his body moving to stand but couldn’t bring it to move to the elevator and so he stood there, turning to face the city, watching as people got on with their lives. He was almost sure he had missed the morning commute, though things looked quite busy so maybe he had just caught the lunchtime rush. He watched singles stumble out of hotel rooms, taking one last glance at the walls left in their wake, that likely harboured their one night stand. Most people would pause for a moment, as if for a second contemplating what could have been, what type of person they had left alone in a strange bed, in a strange suburb. They would then shake these thoughts and rush to catch a bus or plunge into the underground. That would likely be the last time the two ever saw one another, ever spoke, it might even be the last time they thought of the stranger. Before Zayn, Louis hadn’t exactly been a stranger to late night trysts, but they got awfully boring quickly.

For a moment Louis tried to remember the names of the people who had come before, all the nights lying in beds that were not his own with strangers. He tried to picture their faces now though was only left with a kind of warped image of all the people he had been with crammed together in this kind of half human figure, he wasn’t sure if it was beautiful of grotesque.

He remembered a woman who had long red fingernails. He remembered that because he had to remove one from his shoulder the previous morning. There was a boy who had been very nervous and had spoken little English. Louis thought of how during sex he had prattled off a kind of fractured dialect that he couldn’t quite place. There were many others though they were less memorable. It wasn’t as if Louis were a satyriasis, sometimes he would just stay in bars and listen to drunken strangers' conversations. Louis had to dig himself out of his memories.

He watched an elderly couple walking hand in hand and found a small smile snaking over his face. That was something Louis had never allowed himself to want because he knew that for people like him it was unrealistic. He was an unsteady soul. The type of person that always had one foot in the door and one foot out. Staying in one place too long normally gave him the jitters and so he was never sure how he could stay with one person for the rest of his life. Maybe that was why he had inevitably cheated on Zayn. For once Louis was starting to realise that if he were writing this novel he would paint himself as the bad guy within this situation.

In that moment Louis felt sick. He was so utterly sick of the flesh he lived in. Sometimes he envied other people. If they got sick of him they could leave, he was stuck with himself forever.  How the hell could he ever find someone to walk down the street, holding his hand far into the twilight of his life? He shut his eyes, trying to shake such thoughts from his head in the mid-morning. He looked at Harry’s body, watching as his eyes slowly began to flutter. He felt his chest tighten and then he finally found the courage to leave, or maybe it was the cowardliness to run.

He forgot entirely about his backpack, just rushing to the elevator and bashing the button, again and again, feeling himself slowly descend to the ground. He felt himself fleeing as soon as the elevator doors sprung open before long he plunged into the streets trying to convince himself he wasn’t going to be one of those people who paused, who lingered and looked at a possible lover and thought, what if? Before leaving and then never seeing that person again. Louis refused to be that weak. He was a few steps past the entrance of the hotel when he gave in to this urge, spinning on his heels and glancing up to the roof as if he could actually see Harry there. He couldn’t. Louis was a coward and a cheat and he knew it. He cursed several times realising he had forgotten his wallet in his backpack as well as his oyster card and money. All he had was his phone and his house keys, which were tucked in his back pocket.

With a string of profanities, Louis began to walk home, feeling an odd kind of broken sensation within him. It was as if his heart were a vase that had been dropped too many times, each time a small crack growing further and further until inevitably it just burst into a sea of shards. He wasn’t sure it had quite burst yet, but he could feel it quaking as it beats. Harry Styles would be his death, mark his words.

 

**Scene 2**

**Revelations**

**(The Part Where Everything Goes Wrong)**

Louis had been waiting with bated breath for Zayn to return two days later. He still hadn’t had the courage to approach Harry and in those days apart from the other lad, Louis’ heart could feel his absents. It was as if he had ripped a part of himself from his body when he wasn’t with Harry. It was like missing a limb.

He had been pacing his flat for two whole days trying to sort out his story all the while his hand twitching for a cigarette before reminding himself he was trying to quit. He was like a caged animal in a zoo. He had thought Zayn arriving home might have fixed things, but he was wrong, oh so very wrong.

Louis was sitting on the sofa at the time, his eyes fixated on the television, though he had little to no clue as to what he was watching, it was just a blur of pixels dancing over his vision while he thought over and over again the same series of events, same images. His mind was in a tug of war of whether to tell Zayn or not to tell Zayn when the decision seemed to become utterly irrelevant.

A body came crashing in through the door. Louis had been too distracted to even hear the key plunging into the door and unlocking the lock. It was only the smack of the door colliding with the wall that caught his attention, and then he saw it. Zayn’s body crashing with another’s, their lips mingling. Louis watched as the other boy acted like a vampire, lips attaching to Zayn’s neck and sucking at the flesh until it stained a colour similar to that of the corners of a child’s lips and fingertips after having eaten mulberries. It was a strange kind of dark purple.

 

Maybe Louis was a masochist, as he didn’t say anything straight away. He made no clear noise to show the disgust flopping about like a fish, writhing and wriggling in the pit of his stomach. Eventually, he let out a small noise, something like a spluttered cough that caused Zayn’s head to jerk up.

“Lou- I thought you were meant to be at work until five.”

Louis was pale, holding back a sea of emotions for fear that if he dared to let them out the torrent wouldn’t stop.

He finally caught a good glance at the other man. He was both taller and broader than Louis, maybe that was why. His body bore defined muscles. Even from a distance, Louis could see the defined and rounded arms flexing around Zayn’s frame. He had a fuck me body with wide puppy dog eyes that said love me. So that was Zayn’s type then.

Louis couldn’t help his mind from spinning, feeling like water in the seconds before it spiralled down the drain. He kept asking himself why this was happening, why him, why now? His and Harry’s kiss was forgotten. It seemed kind compared to this.

“That’s on weekdays, not weekends Z.” He wasn’t sure how he managed to keep his voice so calm, so even. The other boy looked from Zayn to Louis looking completely and utterly astonished. Louis wanted to slap that look right off his face, but from the dumbfounded look, he was giving Louis, guessed he hadn’t known Zayn was cheating. At least that might mean this lad wasn’t a total and utter arse. Maybe.

That was when Louis felt his body start to tremble. He felt as if someone had just poured cold water down his spine. He couldn’t help but feel next to paralyzed, then came the tears at the revelation that everything from this moment on was completely and utterly fucked. He didn’t dare cry, though his lip shook. He tried to convince himself he was strong, that his body was a fortress, which he could lock all his emotions away and never truly let any of his cracks show. He was wrong.

“Are you going to ask him to leave or am I because I can tell you I won’t be anywhere near as polite.” This time the venom starts to seep through into his words, though Zayn knows better. Louis is being kind compared to how one might assume his loose cannon behaviour to react. Though bitter and broken it was clear he was holding the brunt of the cruelty back.

Zayn had looked to the other lad, shooting him the kind of ‘I will explain later’, glance then helping usher him out the door. All the while Louis sat seething, his vision practically going red, teeth grinding, body locked in place. Zayn turned to face Louis. There was a beat of silence where they were both trying to contemplate how to approach this. Louis wasn’t even thinking at this point, his mind a blur, running a hundred miles an hour.

“Lou maybe we should talk about-” And then Louis broke, some kind of invisible straw cracking down onto the camel’s back, the snipping of his strings. He both broke and shattered all in one with all almighty internal downfall, but still he would not cry.

“Talk about fucking what Zayn? How you were about to casual fuck a guy before I got home, then planed for me to come home, say how much I missed you ask about your fucking Paris trip- which was probably just an excuse to fuck whoever the fuck that was. Are you about to tell me you are sorry? Sorry that you fucking got caught you-” He could go on but he was out of breath, having not taken the time to breath between words, just feeling the need to act like a wobble sprinkler and spit venom quickly in all directions.

Zayn was stunned into silence, standing in the doorway unsure as to what he was going to do now. He awkwardly shifted from one foot to the next, hand twitching into a fist, every now and again small sounds escaped his lips as if he were trying to think of what to say. He was utterly out of words and for once, so was Louis.

“I was going to tell you,” The words fell from Zayn’s lips after a long moment. Louis wasn’t sure if this helped in hindered.

“When?” He asked under his breath.

“I was going to tell you after I got back,” Louis wasn’t buying it. It was utter bullshit, the cheating snake in the grass.

There was a nagging voice in the back of Louis’ head that told him in some ways he was just as horrid, just as wicked, but having it done to you always hurt more than doing something bad to someone else.

“Yeah? When did you decide that? The moment before I caught you or the moment after?” The look on Zayn’s face mirrored that of true remorse and it surprised Louis slightly.

“When you started saying you love me all the time. That was when I knew I would have to tell you. I know you don’t mean it. Don’t bullshit me, I know you don’t. You are trying to convince yourself you do, but you don’t. We are settling for one another.” Louis raised his brow.

“Are you done? That’s it, is it? I said I love you and you realised you didn’t love me?” Zayn let out a groan and dared to move closer, looking as if he were about to sit down when Louis shot him a wicked look which told him it probably wasn’t the best of ideas to sit beside him in that moment.

“No. I realised that I did love you… not in a romantic way, there was a time we used to be best mates Lou now we just make each other fucking miserable.”

“I make you miserable?” Louis quipped his eyes locked on his fingers, spinning the large silver ring he had forgotten to return to Harry, something inside him couldn’t quite build up the courage to remove it either. It had grown comfortable on his hand, the weight a welcome change of scene. 

“You know you do. I know I make you miserable. That’s why I was going to tell you. I wanted to tell you so you would break up with me, so maybe we could actually both be happy for once.”

Louis’ hands balled into fists.

“How many other people have you slept with?”

“Just the one guy.”

“For how long?”

There was a beat of silence and then another. Louis wasn’t sure he could feel any more hurt until that moment. He wasn’t sure why, but this being a one time thing would have made him ever so slightly more comfortable with the situation. Being cheated on was bad enough, but being cheated on several times with little to no knowledge of it was something that made Louis sick to his stomach. Maybe he was still hungover as he felt bile rise in his throat, but something told him it was more than that.

“About six months.”

When Zayn finally did speak Louis couldn’t help but let his head drop into his hands, his whole body trembling and shaking, that was the breaking moment.

“I’m going to need you to get your shit and leave.” That seemed to catch Zayn off guard as he stood stepping backwards, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

“But… this is my home.” Louis swore he heard Zayn’s tone waver, but in that moment his rage was a solar flare, lashing out and burning anyone in range, it would chew you up and spit you out if you came within close enough range of it. He found his breath coming out ragged.

“Yeah, well I pay for most of it and quite frankly, I can’t look at your face without wanting to throw up, so please- leave. Just pack your shit and go stay with Mr- Bloody Amazing Body or whatever the fuck you call him.”

Louis, in his fit of rage, stood, storming into their bedroom, throwing everything that still remains in Zayn’s side of the closet out, thwacking him in the head with several pairs of leather jackets and ripped jeans.

“Just take your fucking shit and get the hell out!”

Zayn wavered until Louis began to throw slightly heavier items. At first it was the pelting of a sketchbook, then a box of paints and brushes, that didn’t quite reach Zayn, just falling at his feet and tumbling onto the hardwood floor with a thud, leaking into the floor, blue and red paints mingling together to create a kind of deep and bloodied purple, mirroring that of the stain left on the bottom of Zayn’s collarbone and the nape of his neck.

It was when Louis raised an ashtray with all intent to peg it at Zayn’s pretty little face and hopefully make it not so pretty, that Zayn threw both hands in the air, gathering his things and quickly uttering,

“I’m going. I’m fucking going. I’ll get the rest of my shit while you’re at work.”

There was just silence again. Louis didn’t know what to do, he felt utterly crazy, the way a lion may feel after being released from the cramped zoo cage it had lived out its days in. Louis was thirsty for blood yet didn’t have any energy left to continue his rage filled endeavour. 

It wasn’t until all of Zayn’s things were shoved into the suitcase he had brought home from his Paris trip (if that even was where he had gone), that Louis could move again. He found his voice, though it came out more broken than lethal.

“Needless to say, we’re over.” Zayn didn’t argue, he just grinds his teeth.

“Needless to say.” He shot back exiting their old flat, slamming the door shut roughly behind him. The old flat quaked in its foundations.

It was really over.

Just like that. He was free.

**_Scene 3_ **

**_The Bath Sequence and Sylvia Plath_ **

Louis wasn’t exactly proud of what ‘free’ looked like. Zayn had been gone for several hours and Louis was now sitting in his bathtub, fully clothed, fiddling with his lighter. He wasn’t going to give in and smoke because that meant Zayn won. Drinking, however, was something he was definitely enjoying. Though maybe that wasn’t the right word, indulging in seemed to fit better.

He had finished the half empty bottle of wine Zayn had left out, even though he bloody hated red wine. It seemed far too sad of an event to drink something like champagne, vodka or tequila, that would just ruin a perfectly good alcoholic beverage, possibly forever. As far as why he had chosen the bathroom it was surprisingly the room which brought him the least amount of pain.

The main room reeked of paint, a smell Louis knew too well and had grown to associate it with Zayn. The smell acted like a vine, creeping slowly up his body and taking hold of his senses. Smelling paint reminded him of millions of evening sitting on the sofa, watching as Zayn would carve out worlds of their own on the canvas. Louis had come to know each different shade of blue, yellow and red looked against Zayn’s olive skin in the time the two had spent together.

 

Their bedroom was the worst. It was filled with nights of drunken sex, drug haze and that one time they moved the bed and played messy twister, laying down a mat and covering each colour with a splatter of paint. Now there was no way he could move the bed as it was covering a large blue paint stain on the hardwood floor where the two lads had gotten a little too enthusiastic. He was lucky their landlord was colour blind and cross-eyed or else he’s pretty sure they would have gotten kicked out a long time ago. The fact the Zayn and the other man, the unnamed devil in his sheets, could have fucked in their old bed made Louis feel like throwing up again.

The bathroom caused him the least amount of pain, but the pain was still there. At first, he had planned to take a bath to calm himself down but he couldn’t quite bring himself to strip down. Removing his jacket would mean revealing the small ‘bus 1’ tattoo both he and Zayn shared and Louis wasn’t exactly prepared for that. Even his skin betrayed him. So he sat there sullenly, the only sound filling the room was the constant dripping of water from his shitty, leaky faucet.

With each ragged breath Louis took, it echoed throughout the small room, every clicking of the lighter. His eyes stayed fixated on the flame until it ran out of fuel, he still continued to rhythmically click the button, it didn’t have quite the same effect.

He stood up, his feet slipping slightly in the water that had pooled in the bottom his bath, hand grabbing for the off-white shower curtain and staying there for a moment. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked uncharacteristically pale and the last time Louis had seen his eyes look this horribly red was when he and Zayn had a week long date, chain smoking with Mary Jane.

He hadn’t even realised he had been crying until that moment. He hadn’t sobbed as he would expect. He was too exhausted to shake, to wail, to sob. He had just been quietly gasping for air, tears quietly left his body.  He tore his eyes from his reflection with the intent to get Zayn’s lighter, burn it out and then maybe toss it out the window, that seemed like a sensible idea- alright, no it didn’t, but it did sound cathartic and at the moment that was all Louis needed.

Upon getting the lighter his mind wandered to better plans. He looked to monochrome, monster _Melancholy_ and felt a kind of rage build in his chest. Art was meant to provoke emotions and it was damn well doing that.  He found himself taking the painting from the wall, laying it down in the middle of the main room and set the flames to the canvas, watching it smoke and char, watching the colours bleed into nothingness, bleed back into the air. Maybe he really had lost it, because it felt so good to see it burn.

This euphoric kind of manic high lasted until Louis’ ears were pierced with the near deafening shrieks of the fire alarm, which was followed by the sudden onslaught of cold water, quickly snuffing out the flames. He should feel grateful, but he didn’t. He just felt hollow.

Smoke rose and fell as Louis’ body began to shiver from the dripping of cold water trickling down his back and shoulders. He shut his eyes and wished for it to stop as he slowly began to sober up. The process was a slow one and as he did, he felt utterly bereft.

The ugly sobbing came later, it was the type Hollywood films lacked, the type where his chest rose and fell in jerky, shaky motions. It was the type of crying where snot dripped from his nose, the ugly retching of raw emotions. This was anything but beautiful. Louis didn’t want to be alone.

He reached for his phone, thinking for a long while of who to call. At first, he dialled Niall’s number and sat there silently listening as the dial tone beeped incessantly for several moments before Niall’s answering machine kicked in.

“This is Niall… I’m either busy or don’t want to talk to you. Leave a message, or don’t.”

A shrill beeping followed this, but Louis didn’t bother leaving a message, he just hung up staring down at the phone wondering who else in the world he could call. He couldn’t sit here alone in his flat for another moment without the genuine fear of losing his sanity. Louis knew Zayn had a good stash of both weed and cocaine hidden somewhere within the flat. A scavenger hunt, followed by an overdose, might be a fun way to end the evening.

That would be his beginning and his end.

He pulled himself together and started scrolling through his contacts to another number. For once, he was going to take a leap of faith. A true leap of faith.

He found himself again standing at the point of no return.

He held his breath.

He called Harry.

Again there was the endless ringing of the dial tone, with each new, shrill ring Louis would once again convince himself that it was time to hang up, to cut his losses and let himself slip into insanity. Anything was better than Harry seeing him in this kind of venerable state. By the third ring there was the clicking of a phone being answered and the exhale of a familiar breath.

“Louis?” Harry’s voice came incredulously on the other line.

Louis was a scared little boy once again at the realisation of everything that occurred between himself and Harry upon their last meeting. The ring on his finger was again made of led, dragging his body and hand downwards towards the waterlogged, swelling wooden floor, now beginning to wreak of paint and mould.

For a second Louis thought of how the water might be trickling into the floor below him, he wondered who lived there. Maybe it was a meth head or an old woman whose family couldn’t afford a retirement home, being left to rot away alone.

He imagined an old crone sitting in front of the television, too slow or too fixated on some old game show or a rerun of I Love Lucy, to feel water slowly dripping down over her, seeping through her nightgown or the meth head counting money on his benchtop, watching water beat down on his five pound notes.

If the latter was the case Louis’ arse would probably get kicked within the hour, but that didn’t matter in all honestly, he was probably about to get kicked out of the place anyway. The landlord wouldn’t miss the state his flat had now been left in or the shrill beeping of the fire alarm which Louis couldn’t bring his body to turn off. He would have to be both blind and deaf to miss this.

“What’s that sound?” Harry questioned as if he could read Louis’ mind. At first, Louis didn’t answer.

“Hello? Louis are you there?”

“Here,” Was Louis’ simple response, his voice sounding choked out and raw, even more so than when he had spoken to Zayn. Harry could immediately tell that something was up.

“Louis, has something happened? Is this about New Year? I was stupid. I know you have a boyfriend. I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you. I definitely shouldn’t have kept kissing you. This has probably messed up our friendship, good and proper. I’ve royally fucked things up now haven’t I?”

Louis took a moment to gather his thoughts, trying to regain some kind of composition. When he spoke next he sounded slightly less shaken, though far more callous and jaded.

“I guess you could say something happened. It’s not about New Year, though- that was… it was-”

Louis still didn’t have time to process what New Year meant, and now things seemed to have changed again, with no Zayn the possibility of continuing things with Harry seemed to arise. Did he want to? Was it too soon? What did he even feel when it came to Harry? His heart would flutter and pound, but maybe that was just another kind of yearning for companionship.

“Let’s just say Mr Tomlinson’s other half is no longer Mr Tomlinson other half and I tried to call Niall but… now I’m talking to you.”

The other line was next to silent for a long while, though Louis could still hear Harry breathing. For a moment he really was worried that the lad had just hung up on him, but soon Harry’s voice cuts in again.

“Was it because of me? Because we kissed? Because that wasn’t my intention Lou- let me talk to him, I can tell him it was all my idea I can-”

“It wasn’t you Harry. It was the fact that he came home from his business trip dry humping some other lad he’s been seeing for the past six months.”

Again there was the falling of silence and for a moment Louis wondered why silence fell and not rose because it seemed like, in that moment, if silence could rise, it would do so in the thick and shaky breaths that were escaping Louis’ lips.

“That’s horrible.”

“Yeah I know.”

Harry seemed to be reaching for his words, trying to work out what he was doing on the other end of the phone line. Louis was also still trying to work that bit out. Of all the people he could have called Harry had ended up being on the other end of the line.

“How are you feeling?” Harry inquired softly, though his tone of voice suggested that he already knew it was a stupid question.

“P-pretty crappy actually. I think that’s why I called you, you always kind of manage to make my shit days that little bit less shit and today- well today is a rather painful one.”

“You aren’t going to do anything stupid, are you? No Sylvia Plath shit, right?”

For the first time since Zayn had returned home Louis actually finds himself smiling, it was faint, but it was definitely a smile.

“If you are asking me if I’m calling you from the oven, which I have somehow managed to wedge my head into and am planning to slowly but surely kill myself, then the answer is no, no Sylvia Plath shit,” Louis felt himself slowly grow more comfortable within his skin while speaking to Harry.

“Plus, if I was in that mood, I don’t think I would be a Sylvia Plath type of guy. If I were to do it, I would probably be a lot less subtle and romantic. I would just choose the most effective method- which is technically a shotgun to the head, but unlike in America a shotgun is surprisingly hard to get so I might have to go for a slightly less effective, slightly subtler type of gun. Also that means that whenever people find me, with my face all shattered and hideous, brain painting the wall and carpet, they will look at old photos and say shit like, ‘such a shame, he was such a good looking lad’, not that I think myself that good looking, but anyone will look fit after you have seen them with their face shot to hell.”

On the other line, Harry had again grown silent for a long moment, figuring out how to respond.

“It seems like you’ve thought about it a lot.”

“Haven’t you?”

Harry hummed quietly and in that moment actually seemed to decide to play around with Louis’ kind of twisted, dark humour.

“All the time. It would have to be dramatic obviously. I would probably paint myself up like a character from a German expressionist film and probably hang myself from a shower rail or something like that. Then, of course, I would leave out all of my unreleased films for someone to find so I could get famous after my death.”

Louis shot a kind of dark smile and whispered,

“So you have thought about it then?”

Harry cleared his throat as if asking for a conversation change.

“I say, we leave to morbid conversations for the moment and you let me pick you up. From the sounds of things, you’ve made a right mess of your apartment. Pack some clothes you are staying at mine tonight, no arguments. Plus, you have some things of mine and I have some things of yours it’s time we trade, yeah?”

Louis was taken back by how forward Harry was being but at the same time he just couldn’t stand being in this house for another moment, it was suffocating him. He needed out.

“Well, I don’t think you’re giving me a choice are you?”

“No” Harry beamed, Louis could practically hear the smile in his voice,

“No choice.”

**_Scene 4_ **

**_The Menagerie of Monsters at the Styles Abode_ **

Louis wasn’t proud of the way Harry found him, lying there on the floor, soaking wet with his mouth hanging slightly agape and his shoulders hunching over his shaky frame, causing his bones to bend and push against his skin, the little notches standing out against his milky white flesh. He hadn’t heard the lad come in so he was just left vulnerable.

Honestly, he was surprised with the haste in which Harry had managed to get there. Whether he took the train or drove, it had been an unbelievably quick trip. Then again Louis was reminded that he didn’t know how far away Harry lived. It could be very close, though Louis could never picture the younger lad in such a place as this. He was too good for these places.

Even more surprising than the speed was the gentleness Harry used when he spoke to Louis. He had knelt down over the smaller boy’s frame, placing a broad hand, near enveloping the entirety of his shoulder blade. He then tilted Louis’ face up slightly so the two were looking directly at one another.

“You got your stuff together for tonight?” Harry inquired while Louis just shook his head in a feeble manner.

He was honestly surprised Harry hadn’t commented on the state of the flat, nor had he spoken about how horrible Louis looked. He didn’t even utter Zayn’s name once or mention any inclination of his existence. Maybe Harry had been the right person to call in this situation. He knew if Niall had answered he would be the type to drag every word from Louis’ throat while he was practically kicking and screaming. Tact and comfort weren't exactly Niall’s strong point. He would have probably suggested going to a night club, or something of that description. It would have helped Louis for the moment, but come morning the world would still be in shreds, as it was now. Harry seemed to have some kind of plan.

“Well, I will get some things I’ve seen you wear, okay? I’m guessing a toothbrush is also in order or would you like to share, my lovely Italian fiancé?”

At first, Louis was about to ask what the bloody hell Harry was going on about until his eyes shifted down to the ring on his finger and he let out a little chuckle. It wasn’t quite all there, but it was something.

“I almost forgot about it my lovely French bon, bon. Here, you can have it back.” Louis began to remove the ring, but with a small shrugging motion, Harry seemed to tell him to stop. This came as a slight surprise.

“Keep it, I’ve got a million anyway.”

Louis was five seconds from insisting he was being silly, but the man shook him off, Harry was so damn stubborn and for once, Louis wasn’t in the mood for arguing and so he simply shrugged it off and slipped the ring back onto his finger.

Harry was strategic about the manner in which he took Louis’s things, seeming to make a kind of mental checklist of everything the older boy would need. Louis knew this because he could hear Harry’s somewhat repetitive mumblings.

“Clothes, shoes… shoes? Where are the shoes?” He would then call out to Louis who would softly direct him to whatever object Harry was trying to find.

This went on for each of the desired items on Harry’s list. By the end, it consisted of clothes, a spare set of clothes, shoes, pyjamas,an overnight bag, toothbrush and other toiletries and last (but not least) Louis’s phone. Louis had also made a soft mumbling for Harry to get his notebook as well. Harry hadn’t questioned why Louis wanted it. He was thankful, though hoped Harry wouldn’t read it and find the dozens of poems dedicated to him.

Once all of these objects were collected, like some obscure child’s video game Harry seemed to think he had finished his quest and moved back to Louis’s side. The rest of their interaction flowed past Louis in a blur. It was like water slipping through Louis’ fingers. He knew what was going on, could remember this or that in a kind of rush, but there was nothing tangible to hold on to.

One minute he had been on the floor of his flat and the next he was being rushed away through the slow London traffic in Harry’s car. Louis wasn’t a motor vehicle fanatic at the best of times and in his drowsy and still borderline drunken state it was proving difficult for him to take much information in. Harry’s car had been dark and fairly sizable. Louis couldn’t name the brand, though it still had the slightly worn in ghost of a new car smell.

Then Louis found himself being led up two flights of steps and into a long corridor. He could recall a few horror films that went a little something like this. The fact that Harry had shown him most of them meant that matters were even more disconcerting.

He tried to assure himself that they were in a good part of town (at least far better than the part in which Louis lived) and that he was with Harry. After a few winding turns, they arrived at a door painted a fading shade of blue, with a rusting metal sign reading, 12B.

“Home, sweet home.” Harry uttered under his breath, swinging the door open wide, so swiftly Louis worried that it would swing off its hinges.

The flat itself, though far more lavish than Louis’s, was very under decorated. It seemed to be stripped down to its bare bones, there was nothing but a Lazy Boy recliner in the lounge room, while the kitchen bore only necessities: a fridge, a stove, a microwave, a sink and several water bowls which must have been for some kind of pet.

Harry seemed like the type of well put together hipster (Louis still utterly hated that word and all the pretensions that came with it) who would have rooms filled to the brim with unique décor. Louis had expected bloody Polaroid photos and fairy lights, not this kind of drab, hardly lived in, abode. Harry to notice the surprised look crossing Louis’ face and uttered,

“It’s a new flat… I just moved out of my best friend’s place. I’m still settling into the flat. Don’t go into the closet, there are boxes stacked up to the bloody ceiling,”

“I haven’t been in the closet for years Styles,” Louis quipped, which earned him a smile from Harry. He felt something within him grow warm. 

“Why did you decide to move out?”

Louis continued, knowing that he might be overstepping his boundaries, but then again Harry had seen him (and was still seeing him) at one of his most vulnerable states. It was only fair that they had a little give and take when sharing their weak spots.

“He was seeing that guy I was telling you about and they were both almost always at the flat. I guess I got sick of third wheeling,” He chuckled faintly.

This seemed to make more sense. Louis slowly began to enter the main room of the flat when his foot trod on something small and furry, he heard a violent hiss as he jerked his foot back upwards away from the object. When looking down Louis’ eyes fell upon a one-eyed tabby cat who looked at Louis as if he were a speck of dust at its feet or some kind of vermin.

That was another thing Louis hated, cats. He had never once met a cat he liked nor one that had liked him. They were all needy when it came to food, yet temperamental when it came to affection, in his mind one could never win with a cat.

“And who is this lovely creature?” Louis mumbled, his tone definitely one of sarcasm as he leant down trying to touch the creature before it let out another hiss. He pulled his hand away in one swift motion eyeing it off.

“He’s Pluto. I thought you would like the name it’s from-” But he didn’t need to finish, Louis knew the words to come and so he finished it for him.

“From Edgar Allan Poe’s short story. You actually read them,” He whispered, not meaning to sound so utterly surprised.

“What are you talking about? Of course, I read them. ‘For months I could not rid myself of the phantasm of the cat’… and all that. That’s why you gave them to me right to read them?”

“Yeah… right.”

Harry looked back at Louis mirroring the same air of surprise. Zayn had never read a single one of the books Louis had liked, he said something once about being more of a Harry Potter type of guy. Louis had said that he would have liked these as well if he had just tried, but as far as Louis’ knowledge went Zayn never had.

Harry shrugged his shoulders once more before leading Louis into the depths of his flat, opening the door to what appeared to be a bedroom. It seemed slightly more put together, though not wholeheartedly complete. There was a large mattress on the ground, with satin sheets splaying over it. A pile of both novels and films were on either side of the bed as well as a laptop and several Polaroid shots were displayed of people Louis didn’t yet know, though most just looked like family or random objects. Louis knew most of the novels to be his and at least half of the films since Harry had shown them to him. Another two cats were curled up at the edge of the mattress, where a slither of sunlight had managed to peek through the pale blue curtains. In the corner, a husky pup was curled into a ball atop a bean bag chair.

“Quite the menagerie you have here Styles. I never thought of you as much of a pet person and isn’t it a little forward to just go and ask me into your room? We haven’t even had our first date yet.” The second part was meant in a sarcastic manner, but Harry’s cheeks turned a bright shade of pink with the statement and he clearly grew flustered.

“I wasn’t- It wasn’t my intention to… You know? I know it might be a little forward to say come and hang out in my room, but the rest of the house in a bit of a mess, so I suppose this is the lesser of two evils and I love animals though it’s kind of hard while I’m at university. Liam, my old roommate would normally take care of them, but now they just have to kind of entertain themselves.”

Harry moved across the room to awkwardly shoo the husky off the bean bag so there was somewhere for Louis to sit, gesturing for him to come. Louis did so in a kind of slow and jerky movement, plonking down and feeling the chair shape to his form. He also noticed at the foot of the bed a film projector and several different types of cameras, from high-end digital to old super 8 cameras perched atop of a pile of university textbooks with titles like: _The Introduction into Classical Cinema, COLOUR- Why It Revolutionised Cinema, The Art of Foreign Film,_ and _Cinema Styles Through the Ages._

Louis was almost too fixated to notice that Harry had sat down on his mattress opposite Louis. The green eyed lad just sat there for a moment, every now and again his mouth opening, then shutting again as if trying to spit out the words which were obviously on the tip of his tongue.

“Do you want to talk about what happened? I’ve heard that talking through things makes it better, we could try that?”

Ah- so Harry was one of ‘those’ types of people.  The fix it people, the self-proclaimed pseudoscientist who would mean the best by trying to talk things through, trying to get him to look at a Rorschach test and to tell him all his problems, then that would make everything magically better.

Louis tried not to be so bitter, but honestly there was nothing about this situation Harry could fix because it was so completely and utterly fucked. There was no coming back from the point of no return. Zayn had left. He was alone in his flat that now might as well be proclaimed a war zone. There was no way of him living there, but he didn’t really have the funds to move unless he picked up more time at his shitty job, which honestly, was a fate worse than death.

“I would rather talk about anything but that, Harry,” Louis spoke, trying to keep an even tone as the husky pup moved to reclaim its spot, plonking down onto Louis’ lap. He mindlessly tugged his fingers through tufts of the creature’s fur.

“How did you manage to get this many animals in a London flat anyway Styles? What’s the appeal of a one-eyed cat, another that’s missing a tail, a hairless cat and I don’t know about the puppy but I feel like there is a kind of running theme here. Is ugly-cute your kind of thing?”

Harry looked up and chuckled ever so slightly shaking his head and moving down to pet the two creatures sprawled over his bed. The third cat, Pluto, was still lurking in the doorway, looking to Louis with his fur bristled.

“No, I just... I guess I like misfits. I like being their second chance, or third or fourth… or last. I love animals and though I like them bright eyed and bushy tailed as much as the next person, they aren’t the ones who need saving. Someone else is going to scoop up the cute ones, take them home and give them a good place to stay but these guys have just as much heart, if not more and half the chances.”

Louis nodded and made another mental note. Harry was definitely the helper type. The fix-it kind of guy. The ever optimistic, living incarnation of Imagine by John Lennon, a regular mother Theresa. In hindsight, Louis was surprised his pessimistic heart had even considered falling for this lad. They were two parallel lines that should never have intersected and yet somehow they did. What an odd thing fate was.

“Are you trying to tell me that hissing creature has more heart than a cute, pet shop, fluff ball? I’ll believe it when I see it.” He chuckled faintly, leaning back on the beanbag.

“I don’t know Lou- you two are both rather alike in that way,” He teased smirking ever so slightly. Louis really was rubbing off on the lad.

“Shut up Styles, I’m not a volatile little shit.”

Harry found himself smiling, lying down on his mattress, hands tucking themselves up behind his head. His shirt rose up slightly to expose a slither of a hipbone. Louis looked once then turned away, nibbling on his lip. He made a mental note of the ink stains that lay there, pressed against his skin and wondered what exactly the whole image was, wondered if he would even have a chance to see the tattoo in its entirety.

This was all still a kind of overwhelming and odd turn of events, which Louis still needed to sort out in his slightly foggy mind. With the New Year, his life had taken a turn for the surprising and resolutions aside, no matter what things were going to change from now on. He couldn’t dwell on these thoughts without a pit forming in his stomach and so he shook the thoughts from his mind, from his skin.

With the newly formed panic, causing his chest to rise and fall slightly faster and for his eyes to spring open wide Harry seemed to go on red alert, able to read Louis as if he were an open book.

“Let’s watch a film, yeah? I’ve got this proper film projector and everything. It will take your mind off that two timing arse hat. Fuck him, yeah?” Louis’s brows shot up at Harry’s words, honestly surprised.

“I never thought you were the type for such language Styles.” Harry had just smirked back at him.

“You’re rubbing off on me Tomlinson.”

“Indeed I am.”

**_Scene 5_ **

**_Cap Ou Pas Cap?_ **

The obscurity of a well written French film couldn’t hold Louis’ attention. His brain was scattered and though in this moment he felt at peace, in Harry’s sizable flat, reclined back on the bed, which he had begrudgingly moved to as it was more comfortable, he knew there was more to this than first appeared. He knew he was seeing his own life from the eye of a storm. In this moment, everything was calm, but the world was crumbling about around him. He had no home and worst of all, he was alone.

Harry had been holding Louis together with cellar tape and craft glue. It had worked up until this point, but eventually he was going to come splitting apart at the seams his heart felt heavy in his chest, growing more so by the moment. It would rise and fall like a led weight, causing his breath to grow shaky. No amount of films, tea, or assorted animals could settle the storm brewing. It had to rain hell before it could settle.

Harry seemed to catch onto his heaving breaths, looking over from the projection of the film on the wall before them and to Louis. He seemed confused for a second as if trying to work out what it was he should do.

“Lou.”

He placed a hand on Louis’ forearm, and that was his breaking point. His word finally crumbles. With that touch Louis lets a sob escape his lips and as most people know, it is awfully hard to stop crying once one had started. That was when the world slowly started to crumble underneath him.

On Harry’s satin sheets, surrounded by an odd assortment of animals he started to tremble and shake, sobbing roughly. He was alone and then he wasn’t. He was cold and shivering lost within his own mind and then Harry’s arms encircled him, holding him strong. He couldn’t stop shaking and so Harry did the work of cellar tape again, knotting his hands around the smaller until the violent shaking grew to calm itself.

Louis kept his eyes shut though salty tears still managed to stream down his cheeks through rough gasps. This was anything but pretty. His internal dialogue mostly consisted of him cursing at himself for seeming so utterly weak. He felt like the crumbling remains of a once great city, broken and lost to time.

“It’s okay. Hey, it’s okay. You can cry. It’s alright.” Harry kept chanting like some kind of prayer within Louis’ ear.

He could feel Harry’s chest pressing up against his and for once he didn’t push away. He moved closer, his face finding his way to Harry’s chest. Today he smelled like fruity shampoo, vanilla and coffee. Louis had smelled this several times while they had been together, but being so close in was intoxicating. He wriggled his hand free for a moment, managing to snake it up into Harry’s hair, gripping it with surprising force, as if to ground himself.

“What did I do wrong?” Louis found his mouth moving and words spilling from it, yet he had no clue where the words had sprung from. They were mostly muffled by Harry’s shirt.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Lou, the dude’s an arse. His loss.” Louis wasn’t even sure that Zayn going was what upset him. He didn’t know what this kind of unsettled swell of emotions was driving towards but it hurt and if felt as if it had been a long time coming. Louis didn’t even know if he had liked Zayn in the end. Not in the way he should.

“Why does it hurt so much?” Louis gasped out feeling one of Harry’s hands at the small of his back, his fingers circling the same spot for a long time.

“I fucked up didn’t I?” Was Louis’ next mumbled whisper. He even felt one of the cats moved to crawl up to his side, warming up the backs of his knees.

“Why do you think that?” Harry asked softly, Louis could tell the lad was looking at him directly now.

“Because I did. I have nowhere to live, no home, no good job, nothing- nothing important. Every fucking day is just the fucking same and none of it bloody matters. I don’t bloody matter.” Harry’s head now moved to rest atop Louis’. He could feel Harry breathing.

“Is that what you’re worried about? Not mattering? Because Lou- I don’t think you’ve realised this, but you matter an awful lot to a lot of people.” Louis couldn’t help but scoff.

“Yeah? To who?”

“Well… You’ve told me an awful lot about your family. I’m sure they care an awful lot. All those photos you’ve shown me of you and your sisters or brother, they all look like they utterly adore you.”

Louis’ eyes mindlessly fluttered open, locking on Harry’s white washed wall. He swore he and everyone else in the room could hear how loudly his heart was thudding against his rib cage.

“They have to, they are family. Plus, they are kids, they don’t know any better.” He heard Harry exhale in frustration.

“What about your friend… Niall? He seemed to care about you as well.”

“Great. The only person in the world I have is some drunken Irish lad who loves anything that moves. He’s a softie who cares to hard, but doesn’t want people to know it.”

There was a long pause of silence, in the background, the French film continued in mumbles, Louis couldn’t understand what they were saying as he didn’t speak the language well and wasn’t bothered enough to look upwards.

“Cap ou pas Cap?” The on-screen character asked in the silence and in the moments that followed Harry whispered something so small Louis almost missed it.

“Me… You matter to me.”

“To you?” Louis had echoed dumbly.

Louis couldn’t see Harry nod his head from the slightly awkward position the two were lying but he could feel it. He didn’t speak the words again as if too fearful of repeating them. Louis wondered why, but then remembered. He had left Harry alone on a roof after all. He really was a shit person, wasn’t he?

“I’m sorry I left you alone on a roof. That was really crappy of me.”

“Don’t worry about it. I thought you were properly pissed at me. I think I got sunburned from waking up at... like a middle of the day, next time do me a solid and put some sunscreen on my unconscious body before you bail.”

Harry let out something that felt like a laugh, his shoulders shaking ever so slightly coaxing a reluctant smile from Louis’ lips.

“Sorry, I’ll remember to do that next time.”

“If I’m honest, I hope there isn’t a next time.”

Louis found his brows furrowing wondering what Harry could have meant by that, five seconds ago he was saying how much he mattered to him. He was about to say something else when Harry cut in.

“Because I hope next time you are going to stay with me until morning.”

Louis pulled back so his eyes could lock with Harry’s seeing if he was truthfully being honest. It seemed like for the most part he was. His wide green orbs mirrored that of sincerity.

“Maybe next time I will,” Louis uttered in a smooth tone of voice, finally, his shaky breath seemed to calm down. His throat no longer felt swollen, lips no longer trembled.

“You should stay. You can’t go back to your flat the way it is. So stay with me, until you can find a new place that is.”

Louis again swore everyone in the room could hear his heart beat. He looked down to the creature tucked behind his legs and found it to be the one-eyed tabby. He raised a brow at it and found himself surprised as it let out a soft purr. He guessed it had warmed to him at least partially.

“I don’t know Harry I don’t want to impose or-” Harry didn’t even let him finish.

“You aren’t imposing Lou.”

Harry’s arms tightened around Louis’ smaller frame, this was a new form of fascination. It wasn’t all lustful, though Louis could easily find himself lusting after Harry it was more than that by far. His heart beat quicker, his palms grew sweaty and for one he thought that just lying there together might be good enough. Harry’s arms were good enough to hold him together, to keep him sane.

“Stay with me… please?”

What else could Louis say to that?

“Y-yeah… okay. I’ll stay.”


End file.
